Tales of Heresy
by shadowblazex22
Summary: A series of short stories depicting the Horrors of the Horus Heresy ranging from the killing fields of Isstvan III and Isstvan V to the void battles fought above.
1. Chapter 1

**The first in a series of short stories which will depict the horrors of the Horus Heresy. Sit back, relax and enjoy the gore!**

" _Oh my dear brother…How far have you fallen?".. _said Xicor , his words filled with lament. He felt the butcher's nails probing at his brain. Commanding him to fight. To kill. To lose himself in a battle frenzy as was the norm of his legion these days. To slay his brother in a sort of battle lust. Yet he disobeyed…He refused to do so. A single tear drop escaped from him, running down his dirtied cheek. It mixed with the dried blood and soot which had caked itself upon him. He looked over at his brother…

No the mindless beast which had taken his brother's form. It drooled, the spittle a mixture of saliva and its own blood, steadily huffing, eyes bloodshot and a deep red in color. Its form was a grotesque mixture of blood and gore. Entrails hung from its shoulders and chest must like bandoleers, paired with a collection of astartes upon its waist. The once majestic white and blue armor of their legion defiled by the mass of blood and gore which was splayed across it. He was World Eater no more. It gripped a large double headed chainaxe, teeth still clogged with chunks of flesh and viscera. Yes, it was his brother no more, but to see him like this, in such a vile state pained him so. He gripped the hilts of his chainswords, teeth whirring in hunger. Damn that traitorous Horus! Damn their Traitorous father! Damn this cursed world of Issstvan III!

Damn his brother for allowing himself to be consumed by such madness and debauchery. Xicor stepped forward, opening his arms in challenge. His choice had been made. He knew what needed to be done. _"Come then you traitorous bastard son!" _he yelled._"Come and meet your end!" _he exclaimed as he revved the teeth of his blade. The beast accepted the challenge, and charged him. Upon closing in, it swung its massive chainaxe downwards in a vertical arc. Xicor brought his chainswords to bear, catching the weapon between the teeth of his own. Sparks flew form the weapons as the razor sharp teeth gnawed at each other. His muscles strained, bulging with effort beneath his armor as he held the weapon at bay. Just as it seemed he was doomed to be bisected, the teeth of the axe nicking the bare flesh of his face he performed a single action.

He swung the locked weapons to his right, releasing his own, and causing his opponents to followed his own, slipping from the warrior's grasp. He gave no quarter, instantly following the action with a head-butt. He felt the connection as his trans human skull crushed that of his brother, blood from his nose spurting onto his forehead. A gauntleted fist was his response, smashing into his jaw with full force, causing it to dislocate. Fueled by his own superhuman adrenaline, he retaliated with an uppercut, the resounding crack telling him the success of his blow as armored knuckle met chin, launching his brother upwards. The traitor quickly recovered and charged his brother once more.

The flurry of blows continuing seemingly without end. That was until Xicor made a fatal mistake. A timely evasion, caused his left hook to miss. The traitor took advantage, gripping the outstretched arm, and breaking it with a wet snap. Bone protruded from the flesh of the exposed arm, Xicor howling in agony. Decimus, as his name once was, grabbed his brother by the waist, lifting him into the air and slamming him down into the ground. He mounted the downed marine, beating furiously upon his breastplate.

Already damaged battle plate gave way, cracks spreading and causing the armor to shatter from the flurry of blows. Yet it did not end there, the barrage continued on, striking carapace and bone within, even as his own were shattering. The force of the blows caused Xicor's primary heart to literally burst from trauma, causing the legionnaire to spit up a massive glob of blood. Decimus caught a glimpse of a broken chainsword to his left. He gripped it, tearing the chained teeth from the blade and wrapping them around his own fist as he beat down upon his brother face once more. Metal and hand shredding the flesh on Xicor's face, blunt force trauma shattering his facial structure. Decimus continued on. He did not stop upon hearing the pained grunts of his little brother. He did not stop when he felt the skull shatter from his flurry of blows. No, he only ceased when Xicor's head was a bloody red paste, stuck to his hand. He stood up, panting a boot onto the fallen World Eaters chest and releasing a roar of triumphant.

**Weeeelll there's that. Let me know what you all think, and any ideas for potential loyalist or traitors,for Isstvan III or V, im willing to take all ideas. Leave a comment or message if interested...FOR THE EMPEROR!**


	2. Chapter 2: Ave Dominus Nox

_Well here's the next story within Tales of Heresy. I will be switching up each new chapter between planets. Alternating between Isstvan III and Isstvan V but other than that I have nothing else to say. Enjoy!_

The whip tightened around the legionnaire's throat. Barbs digging into the flesh, drawing blood. The warrior clad in power armour of a midnight black struggled, gripping onto the extended whip, tugging in an attempts to pry himself free. Vels licked his lips, an eerie smile forming beneath his helm. Ohhhhhh~ How he loved it when they struggled. ~ The days since the initial massacre had been paradise for him and his brothers. For they got the chance to torment the greatest prey of all. Adeptus Astartes. Space Marines. The Angels of Death as they were called.

Ones who had no fear…or so was said until the Night Lords proved that rumor false. Hunting down the survivors of the ambush had proved that much true. The torture! The terror! Their screams! He relished in each and every moment. The fear and agony powering him even further. Vels allowed his grip on the whip to lax, giving the son of the raven the notion that his actions were successful. The moment he believed himself free, moving to draw his pistol from his hip, Vels fired off three rounds from his boltgun. Two for each kneecap, shattering both completely, and another for his left hand, goring it completely.

The warrior crumpled to the ground with a cry of pure agony. He approached the downed legionary, each step following the tune of his pained voice. Upon closing in he brought his boot down with a hard stomp upon the warrior's breastplate, pinning him. He aimed his weapon right at the center of the marine's battered helm, fingertip pressed against the trigger.

_**"Go on you traitorous filth!"**_ spat the Raven Guard. _**"End me!"**_ he yelled in defiance. Vels' smile only grew wider, hidden by the skull etched onto his faceplate. How many times had he heard these words in the last hours? Word choice may have been altered a bit but still the same charge. This wasn't the version he wanted…He wasn't pleading enough yet. _**"Oh..no.. ..my dear cousin.~"**_ cooed the Night Lord. _**"I have grander plans for you…As my newest plaything!"**_ Exclaimed Vels in childish glee. Though his expression was hidden; he was quite certain the look on dread on the legionnaire's face was priceless. Ohhhh how he couldn't wait to see it contorted into a sweet mixture of fear and agony.

Excruciating sounds of agony resounded throughout the ruins of the Xenos city. A ragtag band of Salamanders of Salamanders froze. Barely escaping the initial slaughter, the four happened upon each other, and had been close ever since. Their power armor was ravaged by days of conflict. Dented, cracked sporting gashes and cracks. The once vibrant green of the legion slowly faded and dead in color. Seemingly they were speaking to each other within their own vox channel for a few moments, before the lead warrior motioned for them to follow him, leading his comrades towards the source of the sound. The sight which greeted was grisly indeed.

A space marine hung strung up, bound by barbed wire wound to two poles which held him in place. His pale skin was covered in fresh lacerations the blood from the wounds covering his body. There were various patches of flesh missing from him, crude and jagged pieces torn off. His pale skin and raven black hair identified him as one of the Ravenlord's legion.

Brother Kor'shan approached him first, checking him. _**"Still breathing."**_ Voiced the squad leader over the vox. The warrior stirred, attempting to face his "savior". His face was badly swollen, showing he had been beaten badly during captivity. _**"T-t-trap..."**_ he murmured and as if on Que the four warriors hear a dark voice resound throughout the minds. _**+" Ave Dominus Nox" +**_whispered the voice This single chant sent chills down the spines of the sons of Nocturne.

They readied their bolters, forming up, eyes scanning frantically for any contact. Brother Tyrion was the first to fall. His cry truly alerting them to the impending danger. He had been shot, the bolt round smashing through armor and shattering his spine, immobilizing him. He lay on the ground paralyzed, blood pooling from the impact area. They closed the gap, firing into the direction from which the round was fired. Rounds flying off into the night. He loved it when they struggled. Fighting back like the cornered rats they were. The benevolence of Vulkan's sons knew no bounds, even in the direst of situations. Thus this made them the easiest targets, tied down by their compassion. Another went down, his head exploding into a mass of blood, gore and ceramite. His headless body dropping to the ground. The last two broke off into a run, fleeing deeper into the city. He sent two of his squad to retrieve the downed salamander and broken Raven. He, brother Rathos, and the librarian who delivered their eerie message, would hunt down the final two….

Kors'shan ran, the servos of his armor groaning with each stride he took. He heard brother Pythos release a bloodcurdling scream, paired with the sound of a revving chainblade…. He was truly on his own now. He found his self at a dead end, a mass of rubble blocking the path. He brought his back to the wall, bolter aimed at the path from whence he had just come.

"_**Ave Dominus Nox"**_ he heard, no longer trapped within the confines of his mind. The speaker was here approaching him. The words lingered around him, as if being carried by the night winds. His fingers twitched against the trigger of his bolter. He heard the loud bark of a bolter followed by sheering pain as he dropped down to one leg, his right kne destroyed by Bolt fire. He fired into the darkness, hoping to hit something. His enhanced hears heard no noise. No sounds of impact. Another round fired, smashing into the joint of his right arm, nearly tearing his forearm from him, if it were not saved by a loose tendril of sinew which hung, causing the limb to hang off him. Kor'shan gritted his teeth, biting back the pain. He refused to give his pursuers what they wanted. The Night Lords fed off fear and he would no longer give it to them. He was a Space Marine. The Emperor's Angel of Death. Fear was a foreign concept to them. He felt yet another mental intrusion. His mind filled with countless images. Warriors being dissected .His still living brothers being cut into as they screamed, struggling against the holds of the men holding them. Countless gruesome scenes forced themselves into his head…Kor'Shun found his self-trembling, not even of his own volition.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His twin hearts beating repeatedly in tantrum, their rhythm slightly faster than normal. It was then as his fear began to take hold of him that he saw it. A skull pattern etched into a helm of a midnight blue hue. The helm had two bat wings attached to it, with the red of the eye lenses piercing through the darkness. He raised his bolter, aiming to gun down the traitor that stood in front of him. Before he could fire, a crimson whip shot out the darkness, gripping the barrel of his weapon and wrenching it free of his grasp. The wielder stepped closer, granting Kor'Shan a better view. His armour was covered by multiple specks of blood. He had kilt, seemingly made of human flesh, hanging from his shoulders like a cape. He stepped closer, and then he heard his voice.

_**"Oh…how I can't wait to make you scream. ~"**_ said the figure closing in on the broken marine.

**END**

_And thus another loyalist meets his end. Continue to let me know what you all think in the reviews or my inbox...but before we go on..No I do not favor the traitor legions I am a devout fan of the Raven Guard legion..I just find alot of interest in the stories of Isstvan...but alas until we meet again! _


	3. Chapter 3:The Crow's Descent

_**Back at it again with another tale of Isstvan V. I will try to update the stories on a regular basis, so around two to three chapters per week. Decided to take some time back ot allow my legion some glory and expand upon one not many knew of within the legion. The Blood Crow. So sit back relax and enjoy that which follows. This chapter may not have as much action but it fits the tone of the Raven Guard during this period.**_

The Moritat were among the first to breach the front lines of the traitor during the initial assault of Isstvan V. Consequently, they were also the first to be cut down by the enemy fire following the breach. The few that survived found themselves placed in yet another death lock, being fired upon during the reveal of the other traitor legions, further decimating their numbers. Scattered and hunted, the remaining Moritat accepted their fates, dying with blade and bolter in hand in the heat of battle. All save for one...

A warrior adorned in power armour of a straight black moved through the shadows. His armour sported little honors nor any intricate squad markings save for the White Raven upon the shoulder. The Raven Guard known as Kaedes Nex would not allow himself to fall that easily. He moved swiftly, his figure blending in with the shadows of which he immersed himself in. He had been doing this for days. Moving to areas of little to no enemy concentration, or taking out small seeker squads when the opportunity presented itself. It was during these moments that he would resupply, stripping the bodies clean of any essentials he would find useful. Extra Magazines. Knives. Grenades. Anything he could carry that would last him.

Back in his youth on Kiavahr he was known as the Blood Crow. An infamous murderer left to rot in a cell if not for the intervention of Corax, granting him a chance at freedom. For that he was forever grateful. Other than that he owed him nothing more, but as long as Corax gave him prey to hunt he would follow. Nex himself always had an estranged relationship with his "brothers". Many saw him as an omen due to his namesake as the Blood Crow. Others drew away from him due to his obsession with the hunt and murder. Many compared to the terran-raised legionnaires and those hailing from the Xeric tribe. Perhaps this was why he found his place in the Moritat. Too damned to be a part of the main force, cast aside to serve a different role in the war.

Murderers. Criminals. The unlucky few to be afflicted with the Sable Brand. Those were the ones he considered his true brothers. None ever judged…. Shame most of them didn't survive the initial assault. Nex continued his trek, sticking to the darkness where he belonged. Immediately after his transformation, he discovered he had the ability to wraith slip much like his primarch and a select few of his brothers within the legion. Regardless of this, he still was not granted entry into the Mor Deythan.

Still, the ability came in handy during times as such. When he feared discovery, or felt himself tethering too close to a battle in which he could not survive he would shadow walk. This unique ability allowed him to easily slip through the enemy ranks, and escape. As he moved his superhuman ears picked up the small sounds of chatter. He narrowed down the sources, deciphering three different voices, legionnaires obviously. He followed the voices, moving slowly as to not alert them to his presence. The sight which greeted him caused his very blood to boil. Three Alpha Legion marines stood over the corpse of one of his fallen brothers.

The warrior had been stripped bare, cut open, with most of his vital organs removed. Nex recognized him as Boreas. They fought alongside each other during the rebellions. He would never forget the faces of those whom aided in their world's liberation. Though not particularly close he would not allow the traitors to defile the corpse of one from his legion. He unclipped a Melta Bomb from his belt, priming the small device and tossing it into their midst. He had already checked; they were the only ones here ...none would notice. By the time one of the Alpha marines noticed, it was already too late. As he went to warn his compatriots, the bomb exploded consuming all in the explosion. The in close proximity to the bomb were reduced to nothing more but slag and limbs spread across the ground. Boreas body had been utterly destroyed in the blast. He would be defiled no more.

The last of the marines, he who had noticed, had attempted to run but was not able to escape in time. He had been launched quite a distance away, the blue of his armor charred black, and damaged. His limbs twisted in inhumane manners. He grunted, letting Nex know he still lived. He would not even give him the chance to recover despite his injuries. The Moritat planted a foot on the downed traitors back, leveling him Boltgun and firing off a single round into his head, effectively killing him.

The next course of days saw Nex stumbling upon similar scenes. Fallen Raven Guard having their organs, and even faces harvested and ripped from them by these Alpha Legionaries…and with each time he would repeat the process. Killing each and every one of them with no mercy. It was with his most recent discovery that he discovered the true extent of their heresy. His latest quarry had finished their procedure, remolding one of their own completely into one of the fallen sons of the Raven.

The impostor donned the Raven Guard's armor, and was sent off to find any large bodies of survivors in hopes of infiltrating the legion, from what he had heard. Pity. He would never make it to his destination. Nex's knife had found itself lodged within his throat, his life bleeding away, his body left behind some unmarked ruins. He thought to himself. How many more of their kin had been successful in their infiltration. How many wore the stolen identities of his fallen kin. How many had weaseled their way into the ranks of the Raven Guard. He needed to know more.

And thus his shadow crusade truly began. He tracked down the allies of the impostor he had just slain. He allowed himself to be enveloped in the darkness of the shadows, completely erasing his presence from the very notions of their minds and he followed. The scum never knew that he walked among them. Gathering their information, learning their movements..and when they finally made it onto one of their dropships did he reveal himself….and then the killing truly began.

**END**

_**And with that we have the end to another tale. A story which remains unfinished. I hope you all liked it and are ready for the next chapter..For it shall be...Perfect.**_


	4. Chapter 4:The Beauty of Betrayal

**Here's the next chapter as promised. My goal is to get to each of the traitor and loyalist legions involved in both conflicts, and add some imagination to the vagueness of some of the moments..mainly from the perspective of unnamed marines so once more let me know what ya guys think. DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN WARHAMMER 40K OR ANYTHING INVOLVED WITH IT!**

Caspian stood alongside his loyalist brothers as they faced the approaching enemy forces. One upon a time he would have called them ally. Friend. Brothers even. But no longer. That bond was long since severed the moment those traitorous whore sons fired upon them. Now they were his enemies. Opposition to the Imperium of Men. Enemies to fall to the sound of his Bolter. Caspian and his brothers fought from behind the confines of their makeshift barricade. Caspian popped up from behind cover, emptying the remainder of his rounds into a charging traitor's chest. His breastplate ripped open by the impact of the multiple bolt rounds, the flesh and organs devastated completely.

His body fell to the ground, lifeless. He slammed in a fresh magazine, his superhuman brain taking note of his squad's steadily decreasing ammunition. They all knew that ultimately knew that each man who stood here. Each battle-brother who fought against these traitorous forces would be slaughtered to the man. yet they still fought. They fought in hopes of slowing the traitor's advance. They fought in hopes of slowing this grand plan of treachery. They fought to make sure that the traitors bled for each inch that they took The more death they wreaked, the less traitors for their brethren to battle. Under the guidance of Captain Tarvitz, alongside the few remaining loyalist captains of the legion they had managed to turned a planned massacre into a prolonged siege battle.

Once more Caspain ducked behind cover, barely avoiding a series of rounds which would have reduced his head to naught but blood and brain matter. Another of their umber was unlucky, torn to shreds by combined bolter fire. His body dropped to the left of Caspian with a thud. Not too long after this, Caspian heard a voice over the vox. One of their brothers fighting on the opposite end. _"Brothers!"_ exclaimed the voice. "_Captains Demeter and Lucius have come to bolster us! The Emperor has blessed us with their presence." Now we can truly make these traitors ble-"_it was then that the vox ended abruptly. Caspian did not panic. Situations like such were common with many of their communications constantly being jammed. The marine simply smiled. He found himself filled with a new found strength and semblance of pride. Two of the greatest of their legion were fighting alongside him. If he were to die. He knew that it would be beside them and that it would be perfect. More traitors fell the beat of his bolter. Things were seemingly beginning to move in their favor. However, there was one thing that was beginning to worry him.

Slowly but surely, the sound of bolter fire from around him was dying down. He was certain none of his squad had fallen by enemy fire. Yet more and more of their bolters began to fall silent. He listened closely to the vox. All that he heard were dying curses and gurgling of blood. Had the traitor's flanked them? No that was impossible. They were thirty strong, strategically placed as to not have any weak spots for the traitors to easily exploit. They were completely covered but he still could not think of exactly what it was that was slaying them. He risked a glance and his twin hearts skipped a beat. All who fought to his right lay dead or dying. Done in, not by the fire of traitors, but by that of their own. Captain Demeter was currently firing upon the Emperor's Children that were holding the barricade.

The pride he once felt vanished completely, replaced by a crippling anger which began to rise form the very pores within his flesh. How could they not see it? Once again they had been betrayed by one whom they once thought to be loyal. Yet another brother to show his true colors. He trained his bolter on his former captain, preparing to fire. However, just as his finger pressed against the trigger, there was a disconnect. He did not feel the normal kick of the bolter as it let loose its justice upon the traitors. He barely even felt his own finger against the trigger. No that was not it. He felt nothing at all below his elbow. Caspian looked down to find himself disarmed, fresh blood spurting out from the new wounds. His forearms had been taken from his, sliced cleanly off. They not lay on the ground, useless. He then looked up, aiming to find his assailant, only for a blade to find itself in his gorget, piercing his throat. He began to choke on his own blood, aiming to spit a slur of vile insults at his soon to be killer. He looked into the eyes of the traitor.

It was Lucius, his very own former captain. As the thought fully began to register in his mind, he found his world spinning., dropping at a fast pace. Then all was sideways, his last images being that of the purple and gold corpses strewn across the battlefield. Loyalist corpses. The bodies of his brothers in arms. As his brain finally began to shut down a single thought ran through his mind during his last moments…. _Why?**...**_and like that his world vanished into black. …

Lucius watched as the marine's blood ran down the shaft of his blade. He admired the vibrant crimson of blood, taking pleasure in painting the ground with its hue. He held the blade up, then flicked it to the side, the blood completely being removed from his sword. _"Blissful~"_ he said out loud, taking note of his handiwork. The loyalist had been slain to the last man, Now Eidolon's forces would be able to breach the perimeter, and eliminate all remaining resistance. He had kept his part of the deal. He had given him the perimeter. A smile crept across his face. That fool Dementer knew not of what he had just done. He thought himself to be killing traitors but was instead killing his own men. Oh~ How easy it had been to manipulate him into doing so. Though this all matter not for Lucius would make sure that he joined them in the afterlife and then he would take the head of his main target. Saul Tarvitz.

**END**

**And here's the end to another chapter. Expect the next one to be dropping soon. Other than peace!**


	5. Chapter 5: The Fall of Iron

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OF THE WARHAMMER 40K UNIVERSE!**

He skewered the warrior in front of him. Five powered claws exiting from the back of purple and gold colored power armour. He saw the traitor's eyes widen from the shock of the blow, beneath the eyes lens of his mark III helm. He felt the last movements of resistance as thick red ichor dripped down his arms. The Morlock tossed the body to the side. Boltrounds pinged off his armor, slightly chipping ceramite, leaving gashes and scars upon the black and gunmetal plate. It mattered not, the Cataphractii pattern armour worn by he, and his brothers was highly resilient, and paired with the heavy modifications made by he and his fellow Morlocks, near invulnerable. He swung his heavily armored body around, to face his attackers.

Levelling his combi-bolter, he let loose his fury, the barrage utterly shredding the two Emperor's children foolish enough to fire upon him. The multiple bolt rounds cracking ceramite and tearing through plate to ravage the weak flesh beneath. He continued his killing stride, bringing death upon any traitor astartes he caught in his path. His bionic eye constantly scanned the battlefield, locking on to any living target within his range. This was their vengeance. Their retaliation for that which had recently transpired. The Phoenix Guard had shamed them within the chambers of their legion's own flagship, Fist of Iron.

The Honor Guard had slain ten of their number in cold blood before the warriors even realized the deceit which had taken placed. Each felled in unison by the swing of a powered halberd. Even their first captain, Gabriel Santor, had nearly perished during the swift skirmish. A dishonor as such upon the Morlock name would not stand. This was a stain which needed to be removed. When news came of the treachery of the warmaster and the traitors upon Isstvan V, the Iron Hnads were the first to the call. The Morlocks alongside their Primarch had led the charge. They were at the forefront of the battle, eager to wreak bloody havoc upon the traitor lines. The warriors of Clan Avernii would have blood.

Skral executed a backhanded slash with his claws. The blow powered by both augmetics and the servos of his armor. The recipient, a helmless Son's of Horus Astartes, felt the full power of his blow. His head sliced cleanly through into fleshy giblets. The loyalist had been betrayed mid battle by their supposed second wave. The traitors had fired upon their exposed flanks, trapping the loyalist between a traitorous front. Now the warrior found themselves faced with legion of highly trained genetically enhanced warriors. The body fell to the ground with a thud. Skral soon found himself faced with one of the Emperor's Children own honor guard. The warrior wasted no formalities, charging the Iron Hands warrior. The warrior raised his halberd, swinging it downwards, aiming to catch his helm in the overhead strike.

Skral parried, stopping the blade with his claws. His bionics whined, his servos groaned, being pushed to their utmost limit to handle the strain of the blow and the power behind it. He would not be felled so easily. In that same instance in which he parried, he raised his bolter to the traitor's chest, and squeezed the trigger. At such close range the Phoenix Guard stood no chance. Bolt round tore through plate, piercing the twin hearts beneath, leaving a fist sized exit round. He then battered the warrior aside, eager to move to the next kill. Even as the Morlocks fought now, their gene father faced an even greater battle against his traitorous brother, Fulgrim. Ferrus Manus wasted no time in tracking his brother down, aiming to make him face judgment for his recent course of actions. Skral caught sight of the battle. He had never seen anything of the likes before.

A battle between two gods. He had always seen the primarchs in battle against the enemies of Mankind. Never did he think he would see them in battle against each other. It was a sight to behold, each wielding weapons specifically crafted for the other. The sheer intensity of the battle sending chills down his very spine. He watched in anticipation as his primarch battled on. His anticipation soon drifted to dread at which occurred in front of him next. Tragedy had befallen their primarch. The Gorgon had been forced to his knees, seemingly at the mercy of The Phoenician. Everything froze around him. His twin hearts began to beat faster than ever before. He saw his primarch attempt one last effort to slay his brother, reaching for a fallen sword. He saw the Emperor's Children's primarch look down upon his father, a blade of Xenos design locked in his hands.

He saw the same weapon slay his own father, the blade cutting through both flesh and bone as if it was nothing. The body of Ferrus Manus fell to the ground with a loud thud, which resounded in the very souls of all the Iron Hands around. He could not believe it. Was this a trick? An assault upon the mind of the Loyalist in hopes of breaking their ranks. There was no way his primarch could have been slain so easily. No way his own body could have failed him. No way he could have brought to his demise by the weakness of his own flesh…No…His eyes had not failed him. His bionic eye had depicted the scene clearly. This was no lie. No ploy. No well-crafted illusion. This was reality.

Skral stared in disbelief, too shocked to even move a muscle as the battle raged on around him. He watched them, horde of Emperor's children legionnaires swarming his primarch's body, blades raised hacking at the fallen corpse. His vox crackled, with questions of the Gorgon's fate bouncing around the communications. It wasn't until he heard a single sentence, uttered by one of his fellow Morlocks that he finally snapped out of his trance. _**"THE GORGON HAS BEEN SLAIN!"**_ the voice yelled. It was as he heard these words that he felt something within him break. The last tidbits of his humanity drained away, much like the still flowing blood of his father leaving nothing but the coldness of the machine within, but this too was soon replaced by a new sensation. A deep raged burned within him. The burning embers of hate found themselves kindled within him. He felt a rage like nothing before. A primal instinct to slay all that stood in his way. To kill those who dare desecrated their father.

"_**THE GORGOOOOOON!"**_ he roared, completely overtaken by his rage. He charged the legion horde that clustered around his father. He fired his bolter until it's magazine ran dry and it was by then that he had crashed into the purple and gold wave hacking and slashing. Beating down upon any who stood in his way, even as his own body was pierced and riddled by blade and round. They would not have his father. He would not allow it!

_Skrall of Clan Avernii, elite veteran of the Iron Hands' First Company would sadly be slain. His mangled body found only inches from where his primarch had been slain.._

**END**


	6. Chapter 6: Plight of the Salamander

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE WARHAMMER UNIVERSE NOR FRANCHISE! Here is another story for you all though..Enjoy!**

Dorian gripped the shaft of his Warhammer tightly. He raised the weapon, bringing the head down upon the head of the marine that lay before him. Metal met helm, ceramite splintering, red eyes lenses fractured, bones shattering, blood splattering onto the green of his armor. The head of the traitor had been reduced to a bloody pulp. He removed his hammer, bringing it back to bear. The body twitched for a few seconds. Limbs arrayed in a deathly gray and green slightly spasmed before the movement finally stopped. He took a last glance at his weapon. Draconis. That was the name he given this hammer when he had first removed it from the forge. Named after one of the many beasts of Nocturne. The shaft was a mix of gold and black, decorated with various livery native to his homeworld. The head of the hammer was fashioned to resemble that of the head of the beast in which the weapon drew its name. A ferocious creature much like the warrior whom wielded the weapon.

The traitor's strike had caught them off guard. They had struck harder, slaying many of his brothers in cold blood before they even realized what had taken place, but the Salamanders had struck back harder. Though separated from their primarch and scattered across the planet's surface, they still fought fiercely much like the beast of their own world. They currently faced off against the Death Guard, in brutal combat. The warriors of the Fifteenth legion would make certain that they felt the wrath of the sons of Nocturne. Dorian watched as one of his fellow pyroclast bathed a squad of DeathGuard in promethium. The warriors howled in agony the as the flames cooked their flesh, roasting them within the very armour which was meant to protect them. The final warrior, a resilient one, had attempted to charge one of the firedrakes, perhaps spurred by a last burst of combat adrenaline, but fell short his burning body falling to the ground mere inches away from his target. He had long since spent the last canister of fuel for his own flamer, the weapon clipped to his waist, to allow him free use of Draconis.

The scene was similar all around, many Salamander locked in brutal close quarters combat with the traitorous cousins due to having spent the last of their magazines or not having enough time to reload their weapons. Despite their current success, he knew this would not last long. They were few and the enemy encroaching upon them were legion. Many of their warriors who still fought were gravely injured from the initial assault, and their foe was ruthless. They would give them no time to regroup and treat their wounds. Dorian himself was in bad shaped, his armor gravely damaged from days of conflict. Constant assault by blade and bolt had worn down the plate, he was currently missing his right pauldron, and his left visor lens had been cracked during combat. He could literally taste the death that hung in the air.

A helmless salamander approached him from his right. Despite the various modifications and honours upon the armor, Dorian easily could tell which model of armour he wore. It was the Mark IV Maximus Pattern armour, worn by many of their legion. The legionnaire used his gauntlet to wipe blood from his face. Whether it was his own or that of the enemy, Dorian knew not. The salamander was completely bald, with eyes the color of the flames found in the deepest pits of Nocturne, skin of a charcoal black coloration. He knew him well. It was brother Stellios of the Cortan Assault Squad. He was happy that they had found him during their search for survivors after the initial assault. His presence was much comforting to him.

Stellios pointed out towards the Death Guard's rear_**. "Brother look, the Death Guard retreat."**_ He said. He noticed, watching as score of Death Guard slowly fell back from the Salamander's as the fought. His brothers too deep in combat to noticed or too driven by rage to care pressed on, firing onto the exposed flanks of the traitors. He never knew the Death Guard to back down from a fight so easily. There was something amiss. As if to answer his pondering thoughts a dirty cloud began to roll in, first engulfing the retreating Death Guard, then some of his brothers of reconnaissance and assault companies that had given chase. This was no natural mist that befell them. Something was off. Dorain watched closely as one of the warriors consumed by the mist stumbled out. Like Stelios's and many of their other brother's he was helmless. However, something was off, the warrior was holding his throat, coughing. His eye's had swollen, and were little more that sacs of pus, constantly oozing. The skin on his face was peeling off, sloshing off of him. The warrior fell to his knees gasping for air, in pain before falling to the ground, dead. More warrior's followed behind him, some helmless, others armored, all suffering the same thing. Many fell, killed by the poisonous mist, others felled by the Death Guard whom had renewed their assault with the arrival of this gas.

A virus bombing. The traitors didn't have the gall to face them in one on one combat but decided to sink to lower levels and kill them with this vile weapon. The tides of battle had turned. They were no longer in the Salamander's favor. All around him Salamander's fell back, he as well, aiming to escape the gruesome fate which awaited them in the mist. Many would be slain as they ran, done in by the fire of the Death Guard as they retired. Many were not even killed by the bolts, instead they were crippled, legs blown from under them immobilizing them completely. There they would lay as the mist slowly crept towards them bringing their agonizing end. Dorian pushed down his rage. He would make the traitors suffer later, for now he and the rest of the Salamander force had to get to safe grounds.

Luckily the field of which they fought upon was well fortified with multiple bunkers, he was certain that this would protect them until the poisonous gas dissipated. "To the bunker's brothers! We must seal ourselves in less we allow the gas to overtake us!" he yelled over the vox. They ran their hardest, genetically enhanced muscles and armour and bringing them forward. Many able bodied brothers were at the rear, having gone back for their comrades too wounded to keep up with the rest of them. Dorian and those closest to him were the first into the bunker. They piled in, the pyroclast standing at the opening, herding in as many of his kin as he could. He saw many battle-brothers still too far behind, too wounded or slowed by the injured they carried to keep up to speed. The fog was steadily approaching, its speed increased by an incoming torrent of wind, which carried it further.

He knew he could not wait for them. They would not make it in time. The fog would have them all by the time they all made it. Dorian bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood. Emperor forgive him for what he was about to do…He had no choice. _**"Close it!"**_ he yelled. The brothers holding the door froze in hesitation. They were shocked at his proclamation, unsure of if to follow his order or not. _**"Close it you fools, less you wish to die with them!"**_ Dorian exclaimed. With reluctance they slammed the door shut, just as both Astartes and fog made it to the door. They had just forsaken their own brothers to a brutal and agonizing death. He heard them beat on the door. They all did. They begged to be let in. Pleaded for entry into the bunker. Soon enough the banging grew weaker. The pleas replaced by choking and bloody coughs and then. Silence. He felt their pain. Their agony at yet another betrayal as the virus broke them. He clenched his fist, shaking his head. These wounds would forever haunt all those in the bunker. They would never forget.

Dorain heard coughing beside him. He looked to his left, noticing that it was brother Stellios that was the source. He had dropped to his knee's holding his throat, his flesh literally melting off him. The same was happening to many of the Salamander's inside with them. They had been too slow in closing the doors. They had trapped the virus in here with them. More and more Salamander's began to fall to their knees, the virus coursing through their veins. He himself began to feel weak. His body began to burn. He coughed, a glob of blood coming up in his helm. How was this possible. He was still armored. His armoured seale- It was then that the realization had come to him. A traitor's knife had pierced his gorget in an attempt to slay him. His armour had indeed been breached. He dropped to his knees, finding it harder to breathe. His strength slowly leaving him, and just as he realized the fate which was going to befall them. The screaming started.

** END**


	7. Chapter 7: The Price of Loyalty

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING WITHIN THE WARHAMMER UNIVERSE.**

"_**Traitorous Filth!"**_ the slur boomed from the black armored legionnaire's helm followed by the rhytmatic beat of Bolter fire. Hayden shared his fellow warrior's sentiments. These men. This scum were no kin of his. How dare they commit such a heinous act. How dare they turn their back upon the Imperium and the other loyalist legions. How dare they spill the blood of fellow Astartes! He would see to it that each and every one of them bled for this. He would make sure they suffered for each of his brothers lost in the conflict. Hayden felt the anger swelling within him as he recounted the events of past.

They had come to Isstvan legions strong with one goal. To quell a rebellion. He gritted his teeth as he gunned down an approaching Night Lord. If only they had known that which was truly going to transpire They had been betrayed. The Raven Guard had come here in their full glory, the entire legion amassed. They had been joined by others. The Salamanders, Iron Hands, Death Guard, World Eaters, and Night Lords, and Iron Warriors. This was a sight to behold indeed. Seven Full legions fighting as one. Or so they thought. The true loyalist, comprised of his own legion, the Salamanders and Iron Hands, had been the vanguard, leading the assault. They were to be supplemented by a second wave consisting of the other four legions. However, when the second wave had landed, it was not the enemies they fired upon but their allies themselves. Rounds from allies tore into the exposed flanks of the leading legions.

By the time the treachery had been realized, the bulk of the loyalist force had been scattered and decimated by traitorous fire. Trapped within the hold of two waves of opposition the battle had now become a matter of survival. The Shadow Warden had remained alongside their primarch of course, through the most grueling of the battle. The Honour Guard was his shadow, always at his side ever since the days spent within the mines. However, all changed when they entered combat with the Word Bearers. Lorgar had released upon the Raven Guard some foul manner of beast to combat them. These creatures wore the plate of the Word Bearers, crimson in coloration, but were neither man nor astartes. They tore into their ranks with teeth and claws, aimed at attacking their liege. They would not allow it. They fought back with the same ferocity.

As they did so Corax carved his own bloody path through the beast towards Lorgar. He had been separated during the fight, along with some of his brothers of the Guard. As they fought their way back to their lord's side, the troop had been assaulted by a horde of Night Lord's led by the Night Haunter himself. This was now where they found themselves. Hayden could still see his lord, locked in glorious combat with Konrad Curze. This was a sight to behold indeed. A battle between two god like beings. He could not help but marvel at the intensity of the battle. Regardless of this, he had his own duty. He needed to get back to Corax side, so that none would be able to interrupt him as he battled. He fought with renewed vigor.

His sleek black Mark VI Corvus pattern armor was sleeked in blood and gore. From the midst of battle, a frenzied World Eater charged him, consumed in a bloody rage. He knew not where he came from but he cared not. The warrior wielded a chainaxe, still clogged with flesh and bone fragments. He swung the weapon at the Raven Guard. Hayden raised his left greave, allowing the thickest of the armored forearm to take the blow. The chainaxe howled, it's teeth biting into the ceramite, nickingat the flesh protected below as the World Eater began to rev the weapon. Hayden wasted no time, bringing his bolter to bear, firing at point blank range at the world eater's exposed helm. His head exploded into a splatter of cermaite and brain matter. His body fell to the ground, a new addition to the corpses which adorned the battlefield.

Hayden knew they would not last if things continued the way they were. They needed to retreat. Regroup and conjure up a plan of escape. They were too few and the enemy had the advantage in numbers. However, the Shadow Wardens, the Raven Guard whom fought alongside them would not leave unless their primarch willed it. So they fought on. Hayden felt his bolter run dry, the last of his magazines spent, as a dreaded click resounded as he pulled the trigger. This came at the worst possible moment as a Night Lord charged him, chainsword raised, bolt pistol aimed at him. The warrior fired off a barrage of rounds, a few nicking his armored hide but none fatal enough to fell him.

The Night Lord closed in, swinging his weapon as the Raven Guard drew his knife. He sidestepped the blow, thrusting his knife forward into the traitor's gorget. The blade pierced, tearing into the flesh below, blood spurting out from the wound. Hayden fell onto him, his full weight pressed onto the legionnaire as he pushed farther down. He made sure the life pooled from the traitor's body before he got back up. Hayden wrenched the chainblade from his dead hands, revving the weapon allowing the teeth to whirr.

He noticed a Shadow Warden beside him doing the same. He knew the warrior as Gherith Arendi. Another who had fought alongside him during their liberation. Corax was surrounded, still battling. But he was wounded. His movements slowed. He passed Loyalist and Traitor alike, passing over head his sons. Many of the Raven Guard were still trapped in death locks with enemy forces and could not break off less they wished to be killed the moment they did. Hayden wasted no time, aiming to be back at his leader's side, now joined by others whom had witnessed their father's departure. However, as he neared, a stray rocket fired at his position, detonating near him. His world consumed by a fiery haze then darkness.

As he stumbled in and out of consciousness, his senses still reestablishing themselves he heard much. Pained screams of brothers as they were slain. Curses spat towards traitors, and even his own primarch for leaving them behind. He then felt arms grab him, dragging him from beneath the mound of corpses. He expected his fellow Raven Guard, or perhaps other survivors of the loyalist force. His hope soon shifted into dread. His so called saviors were not allies but the opposite instead. Word Bearers. Two warriors now held him down, garbed in gray colored Mark III plate. They wrenched off his damaged helm, tossing it to the side. He then heard a voice. Majestic and powerful. Hayden froze as it spoke.

"_**Come now son of the Raven. Cousin of my seed. You need not suffer any longer."**_ Said the voice. The words smoothly flowing from the lips, coiling around his very being. This was no ordinary legionary. This was a primarch. He could feel it in his very soul. He risked a lance up, to be greeted by the face of Lorgar Aurelian. He who leads the Word Bearers. Not only that but the individuals who surrounded him wore not only the grey plate of the Word Bearers but warriors adorned in armour of his own legion as well. There was a plethora of various Raven Guard at his side. _**"Many of your brothers have already found their enlightenment. Solace in my words. Why not join them once more, fighting underneath a different banner. That of the Warmaster's own?" **_said Lorgar.

Hayden, as Lorgar was speaking, had gathered up a glob of blood and acidic spittle in his mouth. When Lorgar finished, he spat, allowing the glob to land on the primarch's left boot. _**"How dare you!" **_roared a voice as he felt a blow connect with his temple, drawing blood. Once more his vision become a haze. _**"Shame..I wished to save you from the horrors that awaits those who refuse…" **_ said Lorgar as he turned away, off to find another of his legion to try and bring over. Before he was knocked out, Hayden caught sight of one of his traitorous brothers. Nathian. He knew the face well. He growled, attempting to make eye contact and yell before all faded to black once more.

**END**

**Hoped you all liked this chapter. It actually is going to tie into my own personal story in the making. This one will span the Great Crusade all the way into the Indomitus crusade. For that i'm asking for ideas for legions. So if you have a space marine you would want featured, be them loyalist or traitor alike. Though it will mainly revolve around the Raven Guard I can find ways to work your creations in. They can be for any era.**


	8. Chapter 8: Heretical Thoughts

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING WITHIN THE WARHAMMER UNIVERSE!**

He looked down at the corpse below him, it's lifeblood completely drained, pooling around it. The body was garbed in Power armor of a green and golden livery. The mark III helm had been fashioned to resemble that of a dragon. The body was riddle with bolt rounds, chest place ruptured, massive holes revealing the damaged organs within. The barrel of his boltgun still smoked, fresh from the kill. It was his weapon that did this. It was his weapon that felled the warrior that lay in front of him. It was he, the wielder, that has slain another of his kind. Another of his brethren. He had known this warrior.

He had fought alongside this Son of Vulkan on numerous occasions. Fought alongside the Salamanders during the most grueling of combat. Forged bonds strengthened by fire and blood during the thickest of combat. Look where these bonds had gotten them. This warrior... this astartes who lay dead at his feet. He knew him. He knew his name. He was brother Ke'shan of the Salamander's 3rd company. He was a rather jovial and compassionate individual, much like the rest of his legion. Perhaps the first outside of his legion and his own primarch to show this Word Bearer the meaning of true affection. He would even go as far as to say that he considered this warrior a friend. It was a shame that he fought under the wrong banner.

If only he could have seen the light of the gospel preached by the Urizen. If only he could have seen the folly of his ways and too fought under the banner of the warmaster.. No brother perhaps. Though they were both sons who fought under different fathers. He did not need to be slain in such a manner. A warrior of his caliber could have made great addition to their side. A worthy ally whom he could have continued to fight alongside.

Alas... these dreams would never come to fruition. He had made sure of this himself. How many more would he have to kill? How many more former brothers would he have to slay in the name of Horus? In the name of the Urizen? How many more would fall to the righteous fury of his boltgun? These had been his fleeting thoughts as he trans versed the battlefield these last couple of hours. Much had changed since the legion first returned from the pilgrimage. None of his brothers were the same. No not even just his brothers... His very own gene-father had changed as well. At first he thought it was just those among the Gal Vorbrek. Those few who had been blessed with the gifts of the immaterium. He had been wrong. Though many had changed physically much had shifted in the legion both mentally and spiritually. Even his own primarch was no untouched. Yes, they had fought with religious zeal and vigor before but something had changed in his brothers. He could see it clearly now. The manner in which they fought had not shifted. No it was not the manner that had changed but the reasoning for which they bottle had shifted.

Originally when they fought it was to preach the workings of the Emperor. Each world conquered, another opened to the ways of the true gospel. To the rulings of their true lord and savior. There was purpose in their endeavors. Purpose in their killings. Much of what they did was for a reason. But this. This was different. There was no purpose in their actions. It was just mindless slaughter and revenge. Just an outlet for them to release their pent up fury. Yet the ones whom their righteous hate were not here. The one whom needed to face the full might of their holy force were not present. The Ultramarines. Yes, they were their true enemies. They were the ones who shamed them. Humiliated the Urizen and his sons. They were the ones who razed their perfect city. Devastated their utopia.

They were the ones who had broken them…Broken... Broken... He turned this word over in his head multiple times. Yes, the destruction of their city had humiliated them. Robbed them of that which they had yearned for…but had this action truly broken them? Did it truly shatter their psyche enough to cause them to do this? To cause a once great legion to be set down such a dark path. To commit such atrocities against their fellow Astartes. Against those whom they once swore to protect. To pit brother against brother. Legion against legion. Primarch against primarch. Kin to kill kin. He thought as if lost in thought then slowly shook away these thoughts that plagued him. He had to focus. He could lose his self in thought here. Everything the Urizen ordered was for a reason. Everything they did had purpose. Right? The loud chatter of communication on his vox channel tore him from his thoughts.

Yes, he truly had to regain his focus now. He had a mission to undertake. He and many of his brothers would be travelling to the realms of Ultramar. They would be facing off against Gulliman and his sons on their own home world. It would be on the soils of their own grounds that they would rain down righteous retribution upon these blasphemers. It would be here that they would finally gain justice for the wrong that had been upon them.

_These thoughts would plague this nameless Word Bearer for years to come. For battles on end. It would not be until the onset of the conflict on Calth that he would see the error of his ways. The wrongdoings of his legion. The corruption of his lord. The straying of his legion form their divine ways. He would surrender himself to the Ultramarine, seeking atonement for the sins he committed. Retribution for all the atrocities he had done in the name of Lorgar. It would not be for many years that he would finally be able to redeem himself. Not until he came face to face with his wayward brothers under a new guise... The Anchorite._

_** END**_


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